


Fragile Thing

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is tired of being the fragile one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "bites/bruises" on my [cheaty kink bingo card](http://miya-tenaka.livejournal.com/147410.html).

It hurts when Stiles hits the ground. Everything around him gets kind of blurry. There is an angry roar that makes his head ring, and then the sound of claws clashing, teeth snapping, and a wet, squishy tearing noise than Stiles doesn’t want to think too much about, because the pain is already making him feel slightly nauseous, thank you very much.

When he manages to raise his head, there’s a tall, wolfed-out figure looming over him, blood and gore spattered all over, red eyes glowing. For a second, Stiles worries. Did the other werewolf, the alpha of that savage, murderous pack that had invaded Beacon Hills, win? Is Derek…? His heartbeat speeds up.

Then the figure crouches in front of him, and he can see Derek’s face, all accusation and fury and, he thinks, worry too, deep inside those still red eyes. Stiles exhales relief.

“What the hell where you thinking?” growls Derek, his wolf close to the surface.

“Buying you enough time to finish off the beta before fighting the other alpha?” Stiles says, and it comes out as slurred and pained instead of witty and care-free as he intended. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You could have been killed, moron. Did you even…”

Stiles tunes Derek out, closing his eyes, just for a second. His back isn’t hurting that much anymore but his head feels heavy, and he can feel bruises starting to form where the other wolf grabbed his arm and his torso to throw him out of his way. He’s aware of someone -Derek- shaking him, calling his name, of strong arms lifting him up, and instead of opening his eyes he buries his face against Derek’s strong, naked chest, and really, what is it with this guy and semi-nakedness?

Derek smells great from that close, smells like something spicy and wild and dangerous, though that last bit might be just because of the smell of blood that clings to him. But then again, it’s Derek, so “dangerous” might be a smell that clings to him all the time. It would make sense.

Stiles’s head has stopped ringing, but he doesn’t move, lets Derek carry him wherever it is he’s taking him. It’s not often Stiles can indulge like this, so yeah, taking advantage of the situation. Just a little bit.

“Stiles!”

That’s Scott’s voice, breathless and worried, and Stiles reluctantly turns his head away from Derek’s skin to look at his best friend.

“I’m fine,” he says. “okay, maybe not ‘fine’, not right now, but I will be. Just a few bruises, that’s all.”

He can feel Derek’s growl more than he can hear it. Even though it really shouldn’t be, it’s a reassuring sound, somehow.

It’s a good thing Stiles’s father is away on a long-overdue vacation for the week, because it means Derek can bring him home and Stiles can sleep the worst of the pain off in his own bed. By the time they make it to the empty house, Stiles can’t pretend to be half knocked out anymore, so he just leans on Derek a little bit in order to make it inside.

The rest of the pack follows them, and Scott tries to help out, but one look from Derek has him stepping back and letting the alpha take care of Stiles. Climbing up the stairs proves more difficult than expected, and half-way up there Derek scoops Stiles up in his arms again and caries him all the way to his bedroom. All the way to his bed. And really with having the big bad wolf putting him down carefully on the mattress, half-naked and gorgeous, how is Stiles’s dick not supposed to react at all?

If Derek can smell his arousal (and of course he can, hello, werewolf), he thankfully doesn’t say anything. Instead, he helps Stiles take off his shoes and then his shirt, quick and efficient, and it’s not really Stiles’s fault if he’s disappointed when he leaves the rest of his clothes on. Though judging by how much he hissed and winced at the pain when his shirt came off, maybe it _is_ a good thing.

***

Two days later and the pack is still mostly hanging out at his place. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s just because it’s convenient or if they really all worry about him. He thinks it’s a bit of both.

He’s fine, though. He has purple and green bruises _everywhere_ and his ankle still hurts when he walks, which is why he’s going to have to skip school for a little while, since it would be a little too difficult to explain.

“You’re sure you’re going to be fine?” Scott asks for the tenth time this morning.

“Yeah, yeah, just go to class already. And say hi to Alison for me.”

With a last worried look towards him, Scott leaves the house. Stiles catches a glimpse of Erica at the wheel of his jeep, and he almost complains, but really he just wants them gone so he can do what he’s been planning to do since he woke up in a house full of tough, strong werewolves feeling like he’d just gone through a laundry machine.

He finds Derek in the living-room, reading some book. The title is hidden by his long, elegant fingers, and Stiles doesn’t care enough to try and find out what it is. He sits next to the alpha on the couch, less than a foot away from him. He takes a big breath, opens his mouth to speak… and can’t find the words.

He closes his mouth, opens it again, then sighs. He doesn’t know how to start, or maybe he’s just afraid Derek’s going to say no, and he could ask Scott but Scott would never do it, and the others would never dare disobey Derek if he told them not to do it. Plus, Stiles wants the alpha to be the one.

After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, Derek lowers his book, shooting a somewhat annoyed look at Stiles.

“What do you want?” he asks, but it sounds more like an order.

“I want to not be the weak and fragile one anymore,” Stiles says, looking away.

“Maybe if you stop putting yourself in the middle of fights, you won’t feel so fragile,” Derek growls.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it,” Stiles bites back, turning his eyes to Derek.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I want you to bite me.”

There’s a silence then, Derek’s eyes fixed on him, unreadable. When the werewolf talks again, his voice is lower, and it almost makes Stiles shiver.

“I don’t need to explain to you all of the consequences.”

“No, you don’t.” Stiles has never sounded so serious to his own ears before.

“Are you sure?”

“Would I ask otherwise?”

“Who knows why you do half of the things you do?” He sounds grave, but Stiles thinks there’s a hint of amusement somewhere there.

“I’m sure,” Stiles sighs.

“Alright.”

Stiles looks at Derek, and Derek looks back. Neither one moves, they just stare at each other for a while, and Stiles can feel some sort of tension rising in the room. It’s not nerves, it’s something more primal, and it probably shouldn’t turn Stiles on but it does, a little bit.

“So, how do we do that?” he asks, to break that silence, and it comes out a little bit shaky.

“Take off your shirt,” Derek says, and it’s an order. Derek’s good at giving orders, even more since he’s become an alpha and his pack almost always _has_ to obey. It occurs to Stiles that he, too, will now feel that impulsion to obey Derek.

Stiles winces when he takes off his shirt. The t-shirt proves to be more difficult, but then Derek’s hands are one him, helping him. Derek watches Stile’s large bruise on his side, and it’s really taken an ugly color, Stiles knows. The werewolf trails a finger lightly over it, and the touch feels terribly intimate.

Derek wraps his hands around Stiles’s waist, careful to grab him under the bruise, and pulls Stiles so that he’s now straddling Derek’s lap, and if the earlier touch had felt intimate it was nothing compared to this. Derek leans in, closing his eyes, burying his nose between Stiles’s neck and shoulder and _inhaling_.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s feeling so turned on right now, and there’s no way Derek doesn’t know, because Derek knows everything. Awkwardly, he puts his hands on the werewolf’s shoulders.

He startles when he feels lips against his skin, light kisses at first, then a tongue licking at his neck, still-human teeth grazing his skin. He digs his fingers into Derek’s shoulders, shuddering a little bit, and bites back a moan.

Derek’s hands move from his waist to his ass, pull him closer, all the way until he’s flushed against Derek’s chest, his full-blown erection trapped between them. He can feel how hard Derek is, too. Derek bites his neck, still human, not breaking skin, but this time Stiles does moan.

“Okay, not what I had in mind, but this is fine too,” Stiles breathes heavily. 

He fumbles with Derek’s shirt, tugging it out of his way, letting his hands roam over that muscular chest. Derek stops kissing him to take the shirt completely off, and when he’s done Stiles just dives in, latches his lips to Derek’s.

Derek kisses like he does everything, aggressively and pushily, and it’s just _awesome_. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, his fingers sliding into Derek’s messy hair, and he always assumed the guy used hair products to make it look this hot but apparently he doesn’t. Derek’s hands moving to his fly bring his wandering mind back to important thoughts such as “oh god yes” and “so good”.

When strong fingers wrap around his dick, Stiles moans, breaking the kiss, and Derek starts kissing his neck again as he quickly and efficiently brings Stiles closer to the edge. Stiles firmly grips Derek’s hair with one hand, supporting himself on the alpha’s shoulder with the other one as he fucks into Derek’s hand.

The lips on his neck feel slightly different and there are now sharp teeth brushing against his skin. The fact that Derek is partly wolfed-out, is about to bite him, to make him _really_ part of his pack, it’s just so good, Stiles doesn’t think he’s going to be able to hold off for much longer.

“Do it!” he moans, and then there is pain, like a fire seeping into him, and he cries out.

It’s just one small bite, sharp and precise, probably as small as Derek could have possibly done, even though it still hurts. Derek’s hand on him has stilled when he shouted in pain, and now he’s looking at him, with his wolf face still on and blood on his lips. Stiles’s blood. Stiles leans in and presses his mouth against Derek’s, ignoring the taste of blood and pushing his hips up, silently begging for Derek to continue his work.

It’s strange to see Derek’s face change back from that close, but then Derek is kissing him again, and pumping his cock, and the fire of the werewolf’s bite is still seeping into him, but it almost feels good. And when Derek’s mouth moves to the wound and he starts _licking_ it that’s it, Stiles tenses up and comes all over Derek’s hand and chest.

It takes Stiles some time to get his breath back. When he does, he looks at Derek’s intense face and smiles.

“Tell me we’ll be doing this again.”

“We won’t,” Derek says, and Stiles’s smile falters. “We’ll be doing so much more. You are mine, now.”

Stiles sighs in relief. “Yes, I am yours.”


End file.
